


On Sherlock Missing Him

by dederants



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Post-The Sign of Three, Sherlock - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 12:50:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1388308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dederants/pseuds/dederants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the morning after the wedding, and Sherlock begins a life without John Watson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Sherlock Missing Him

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet is based on [this poem I saw on Tumblr recently.](http://dederants.tumblr.com/post/80512183890/people-always-say-that-it-hurts-at-night-and)
> 
> I DO NOT own the characters/original story in this work of fiction, nor is the poem mine. In the link above, the quote is sourced.
> 
> Enjoy!

The day after the wedding, Sherlock was alone in 221B Baker St.

9am, and Sherlock hadn’t slept a wink. That didn’t stop him from putting the kettle on and making toast.

In the early hours, he waited for the shuffle of slippers in the kitchen, the sound of the faucet opening to fill the kettle with water, the smell of bread toasting while the kettle boiled to a whistle. It took him a moment to realize John wasn’t there to do those things.

Sherlock craved those mornings before The Fall, and it pained him to know John wallowed in sorrow while his toast burned and the kettle whistled loud enough for Mrs. Hudson to run up to the flat. Her hand would gently tap John’s arm, bringing him out of his stupor.

It pained Sherlock that John wasn’t there in this moment, making his way around the kitchen, taking a seat at the table, pouring himself a cup of tea. Sherlock found himself mimicking those actions without thought. Yet he needed to occupy his hands with anything other than vice. That’s the last thing John, Lestrade or Mrs. Hudson or anyone need worry of: Sherlock falling off the wagon.

But Sherlock wasn’t sure he could stay clean long enough before John got back to helping Sherlock with cases. IF John came back.

There’s sharp, excruciating pain in his heart, but Sherlock never let it inhibit him from solving cases. Screaming into a pillow wouldn’t do much of anything; he’d done that during his “hiatus”, and was no help.

It pained Sherlock to think of not taking the chance to caress John’s face after returning home from the stag do. Sherlock ached to touch John after the man’s hand landed onto Sherlock’s knee; Sherlock wanted him to go further, maybe slide the hand up the thigh, cup his crotch. The touch itself was electric, and, in that moment, Sherlock was jolted to arousal.

“I don’t mind,” John mumbled, and Sherlock knew what he meant. But why didn’t he act? Maybe he thought his inebriated wits would get John to loosen up more? It was their last night alone together, the last night of John’s bachelorhood. Had it not been for Mrs. Hudson and their eventual client interrupting them, maybe Sherlock would’ve made a move. Or maybe John?

No point pondering that now. Too late. John started a new life with… Mary. She isn’t “someone else”, or someone John dates for a while to soon be dumped by. She’s John’s new bride, carrying his unborn child. She’s hiding something. Sherlock decided to mind his business and let things be. Out of his control.

John chose her.

Sherlock glanced down to find his hands trembling. His eyes were a bit… misty, his lip quivered. Damn, Sherlock thought. Must… suppress.

But tears welled and overflowed from his eyes. Loss, grief, emptiness grew in his core. Head in his hands, Sherlock sobbed. The emotions were too great; he’d kept them in since coming out of hiding and back into John’s life. Forget Moriarty; Sherlock Holmes is nothing without his blogger, Dr. John Hamish Watson.

The craving for narcotics was stronger than ever...


End file.
